Nonstop
by kopycat101
Summary: Chihiro Fujisaki, as the Ultimate Programmer, can program for days straight, holed up in their room. However, they barely eat, drink, go to the bathroom— and they certainly don't get any sleep. They know it's a problem— but Kiyotaka Ishimaru is concerned, and is there to help. (Chishi fic. Pre-game/pre-Mutual Killing/Hope's Peak)


**AN**: I was going to post this as a chapter on my oneshot collection fic, **Pieces of the Picture**. However, this became way too long—so I'm posting it apart.

My friend Aidan has a headcannon that Chihiro can go and program for days straight, but they wont sleep or eat or go to the bathroom. Essentially, like anyone that does stuff on the computer to make a deadline. And Kiyotaka is usually the one that has to make sure that Chihiro can function and eats/sleeps/STOPS.

_In this fic, I refer to Chihiro with 'their/them/themself' pronouns_, because I don't want to go through any Chihiro Gender Wars. _Ishimaru thinks Chihiro is a girl, so he refers to Chihiro in his thoughts with 'she, her, herself' pronouns_. If you like s/he pronouns for Chihiro, just replace their with those, I guess.

* * *

Wordcount: 4250

Chihiro Fujisaki x Kiyotaka Ishimaru

(Chishi, Ishichihi, Fujishi, Chihimaru)

Nonstop

(_School days/pre-Mutual Killing_)

* * *

_Chihiro Fujisaki_ was the _Ultimate Programmer_. They had ideas to implement, things to code, projects to work on, and technology to engineer.

It was long work, too. Hours upon hours of coding and schematics, just to get the basis of the inner workings of a small part.

When people thought programmers, they thought of someone sitting at a computer and typing up random sequences on the keyboard for a few minutes before miraculously creating a fully functioning program. Then, the person—usually a mid-twenties or thirties male with carefully combed hair, thick glasses, a professional look of a long-sleeved shirt and tie with slacks, and who would babble long strings of words whilst they typed up their magical program— would then have **hours** of free time to themselves. Because their genius and quick work would make the miracle program in almost no time at all.

No, that was **not** what programming was like. Even if you had a talent that rivaled the Legends of Programming, it would take more than a few minutes of key strokes to make most of the technology that was vital to everyday life.

That stereotype needed to be beat out of people's minds— because only **computers** can do such a thing, and programmers were **people**.

Also, computers still weren't advanced enough to completely create a new structure or program. Computers still could not 'think' for themselves to that degree. **People** were the ones that had to develop and invent these new things.

Chihiro knew various sequences by heart, and could whip up the basis for any program in less than five minutes. But even then, Chihiro—and **all** programmers—where humans. Humans can only type and process and create things so quickly. Humans needed breaks and sustenance—food, water, bathroom, stretching, eye checks, wrist exercises—and **sleep**.

Despite all the trials and tribulations of programming—and having to always recognize that they had limits—Chihiro enjoyed programming immensely. It was one of the few things they were good at. To them, programming was fun, interesting, and immersive.

**Very** immersive.

**So** immersive that if one caught the young-looking student tapping away a sequence on their laptop, it would take multiple times until the small brunette snapped out of their intense typing.

**So** immersive that Chihiro could go up to almost a full week with barely any food or sleep, whilst lost in their programming.

If Chihiro wasn't already naturally frail, such negligence of their body and limits would certainly make them weak.

But Chihiro wouldn't care. Often times, it was their job. Other times, it was just something fun, or a personal project. No matter what, programming—and any problems that came with it—was what the tiny brunette **embraced**.

So it's no surprise that little Chihiro Fujisaki spent the entirety of this weekend holed up in their room, programming.

Once the bell rang on Saturday, the tiny student had bolted like a frightened mouse to their room. They turned down various invitations for activities or social events during school, so that they would have as much time as possible for themself.

When it hit six in the evening that Saturday, the brunette already had all their homework done and out of the way. With a stretch, they got all the kinks out of their system, before putting away their homework and textbooks, and pulling out their trusty laptop from their bag.

They started up the program on their laptop for a very vital project they'd gotten commissioned to work on, by a large electronics company. The project was to make a fully functional, intelligent Artificial Intelligence that surpassed all others in the market.

Chihiro went and prepared themself for the long session ahead. The bathroom door was left ajar with a nightlight on; they had a large pack of sandwiches by their desk, ready for possible consumption; a fourth of their desk was quickly covered with snacks of various types and calorie counts; the other fourth of the desk was soon covered with bottles of water, energy drinks, and pre-packaged iced coffees; and they changed into a more comfortable outfit of a t-shirt and baggy lounge pants.

Once Chihiro got older, their tolerance for having little sleep grew, and so did their wisdom. Having snacks and heavy-caffeine drinks ready was something they picked up; it gave them more energy to keep working, and it was healthier than no food or drinks whatsoever, as Chihiro would become so inattentive that they would never get up to eat or drink. They also learned to program with the most comfortable and least amount of clothing possible. And to always have a light source by the bathroom, or else they would smack into multiple walls or pieces of furniture.

Finally, the preparations were complete. With a determined nod of their head, followed by the cracking of their neck and knuckles, the little programmer started back up the files to start working on.

By six in the morning on Sunday, twelve full hours in, Chihiro had already drunk two bottles of water and two iced coffees, downed three candy bars, and had haphazardly eaten a ham sandwich while having an energy drink. They only took a five minute break around six hours in to stretch, and went to the bathroom around the tenth hour.

And still, the little programmer kept at it.

By six in the afternoon, twenty four full hours in, Chihiro's sight had started to become disoriented. They gulped down an iced coffee around fourteen hours in, and then another on their twentieth hour. They'd also drunk three energy drinks, finished off half of their snacks, and abandoned a half-eaten sandwich long ago.

They hadn't slept the entire twenty four hours. Their eyes hurt, and it became hard to blink. Around the twenty first hour, they'd stumbled off to the bathroom again—not even bothering to close the door—and stumbled back out in their stained and ruffled t-shirt, their pants discarded.

And still, the little programmer kept at it.

Thirteen and a half hours later—7:30 in the morning, Monday—marked itself as the thirty seven-and-a-half hour into the programming.

None of the sandwiches had been touched, but all the chocolate bars and light snacks were gone. They'd drunk their last bottles of coffee somewhere around midnight and three in the morning. They were working on their eighth energy drink (or was it ninth? Maybe even tenth at this point. Chihiro didn't keep count of the empty cans. They had rolled off to various parts of their room at this point, more than likely) and hadn't properly gone to the bathroom yet.

They were too immersed into their coding that they simply peed in an empty coffee bottle, but was at least attentive enough to throw it in the trash bin next to the desk, so that they didn't accidentally drink their own piss if they picked up the bottle again. They didn't even remember when this was, but it was sometime between twenty four and thirty seven-and-a-half hours, definitely.

Oh, and they hadn't slept a wink. Whenever they started to nod off, the programmer would simply slap themself, take a long swig of energy drink or coffee, and then turn on some loud music to keep themselves going. Mostly punk rock that Leon had given them.

"_Sleep is for the weak_," they would murmur to themself hoarsely.

They also barely said a word the entire time. They were running low on energy. They probably looked like complete crap, or like they were a zombie.

It was all atypical symptoms, actually.

Most would loath themselves and their life decisions if they put themselves through what Chihiro would. All that work, with little sleep, only sugar and caffeine to keep you going for twenty four, thirty six, forty eight or more hours?

But this was what **true** programming was like. What the ultra-dedicated programmers put themselves through. What **anyone** extremely dedicated to some activity that was important to them would do, actually. Or a good portion of the teenage population.

It seemed more inspirational and less moronic to think it was dedication to something deemed important, rather than the idiocy of the teenage mind.

Anyway, most would loath themselves…And in the early hours of the morning after a day or more without sleep—sure, Chihiro would loath themself a bit. But accomplishing something, once they woke up from a minor sugar-and-fatigue-induced coma, would give them a sense of pride that would make it all worth it.

But while they were almost done—so, **so** close to being done—something happened that made Chihiro absolutely **loath** their life decisions.

The bell to their bedroom rang. Incessantly. And very **loudly**.

Chihiro growled in frustration—the action filling their face with pure, unadulterated fury that no one could **ever** imagine the programmer having—and kept on typing, trying to ignore the bell.

They were literally a few strings of sequences away from being **done** with what they'd been working this entire weekend. Ten—no, maybe just five—minutes. Just a bit more, until Chihiro could lean back against their chair and stop their tired, stiff fingers, and maybe close their eyes to rest.

Then a loud knocking came at the door. Soon, it was followed by someone talking into the doorbell's intercom system.

"_FUJISAKI-KUN, ARE YOU THERE_?" called a very **loud**, very **familiar** voice.

Chihiro gave a loud groan, and slammed their head against the keyboard. There was no use in trying to ignore _Kiyotaka Ishimaru_.

He was on the Morals Committee, the Honors Committee, the Disciplinary Committee, and the list goes on. He literally got his place into _Hope's Peak Academy_ by strictly following and enforcing the rules, and pushing his classmates into doing better in school. He's constantly on everyone's tails about something, like a bloodhound on a trail to catch game, and would investigate on even the smallest of oddities in someone's usual demeanor.

"_FUJISAKI-KUN, IT IS UNLIKE YOU TO BE LATE TO BREAKFAST. IT'S VERY WORRYING_," Ishimaru called again through the speaker.

Usually, Chihiro would feel grateful for Ishimaru's intervention, as well as apologetic and embarrassed for having caused so much worry.

However, Chihiro currently had a migraine, a twitch was forming in their right eye, and they felt ready to either pass out on the spot or kill a man.

They were literally **three** sequences away from being done. THREE.

Muttering unintelligible things under their breath, Chihiro unsteadily stumbled towards the door, the thought of how terrible they must look not even passing through their mind. Chihiro simply walked—stumbled—towards the door, and wrenched it open.

The hallway was much brighter than inside Chihiro's room, so they hissed and squinted, bringing up an arm to cover their eyes.

Kiyotaka, meanwhile, was standing speechless in front of the door that had been wrenched open.

The person facing him could barely be discernable as Chihiro Fujisaki. They had the same stature, frailness, and hair color, but that seemed all that was intact.

Fujisaki looked _awful_. Bloodshot eyes, a wild mane of hair that was drenched in sweat in some places, shaking limbs, mouth covered in smears of _something_….Not to mention the stained t-shirt and boxers that the small classmate was sporting.

If the tiny student sported that in their usual demeanor, than Taka would have blushed, and found it very cute. However, the sight before him was so out of character, that the only things to pass through his mind were terrible situations and explanations about his classmate's current state.

"**What**?" Chihiro asked in their raspy, barely used voice. All their irritation, frustration, fatigue, and pain seeped into that single word, as they squinted up at the much taller boy.

"F-Fujisaki-kun…What **happened** to you?" Ishimaru managed to utter, horrified.

The programmer yawned, and rubbed at their eyes. "I spent the weekend programming," they muttered exhaustingly.

Taka had to process the answer for a few seconds, before he gaped at the shorter student. "Y-W-H-D…" he stuttered, before coming up with a something that sounded like a human language. "D-Did you spend the entire weekend cooped up in your room… Programming…**Nonstop**?!"

Fujisaki simply blinked up at him. "Yeah…" they said slowly, "I've done it before. Just not that long, or much, at school."

"B-Wh….But you look **awful**!" Taka pressed.

It was incredibly unnerving to see an adorable, bright little thing like Fujisaki look exactly like a washed-out alcoholic.

Then it dawned on him, and Taka shifted from being confused and gaping, to being stern. "While you were cooped up in your room, you did not take proper care of yourself, did you?!" he accused.

"It happens. I get caught up in it," the programmer explained tiredly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few sequences to finish and—"

No, he couldn't allow that! Fujisaki was already much too negligent. She looked like she hadn't slept for the past few days, and her overall shape was **unforgivable**.

"Oh no you don't!" Ishimaru yelled, as he slammed his boot into the doorway, stopping the door from closing in his face.

"Fujisaki-kun, I cannot allow you to do that! For one, it is a school day!" he said. "Two, the state you are in is incredibly unhealthy! I shall stop you from programming, so that you don't harm yourself further!"

"Ishimaru," Fujisaki half whined, half **growled**—no, he must have imagined that. Fujisaki was too kind to growl. "Please, I need to finish—"

But Taka would not budge. He easily opened the door, despite the little programmer having put her entire weight against the door to close it in vain. He marched straight in the room, not bothering to linger on the fact that he was in a **girl's** room without their permission, and closed the laptop, bending down to store it in his classmate's schoolbag whilst he was at it.

He then turned around, and pointed straight at Fujisaki, who had been right on his back, trying to get around him or stop him from putting the nefarious contraption away. "Doing this to yourself is **unforgiveable**, Fujisaki-kun! If I must, I shall drag you out of your room so that you can face the new school day!"

Fujisaki stared at him, speechless, and he quickly amended what he said. It sounded like he was either abusive, or ready to force her into doing something! No, that would not do.

"Er—when you are perfectly ready and changed into appropriate attire, that is. And of course, I will be out of your room," he said sheepishly. "However—I will be waiting outside so that I can get a proper meal into you, and then escort you to class!" he added forcefully.

Fujisaki simply deflated after that, looking ready to either pass out or burst into tears, and Taka quickly amended himself again.

"Fujisaki-kun, you **must** do something, so that you can attend class! Please, take a shower, change, and get ready for the day," he pleaded, his worry seeping from every word. "I shall get you a good breakfast, escort you to class, carry your things—but you **must** attend to yourself to make up for your negligence this weekend!"

"Okay," Fujisaki muttered, shoulders still slumped. "But…Wouldn't showering take longer…?"

"No, I believe you need a shower," he blurted. "Other than cleaning yourself, it will also serve the dual purpose of waking you up, thus making you more alert and ready for the day."

"'Kay," Fujisaki uttered meekly, as she rubbed at her face. She padded off towards her drawers—Taka noting that she was barefoot, and she looked good from behind in her current attire, despite looking surprisingly manly and un-girl-like—and started pulling things out.

Taka blushed, the realization that he was in a girl's room, not to mention the fact that the girl was going to shower and disrobe herself. Taka sharply turned around, facing the wall, his entire body stiff.

"F-Fujisaki-kun," he squeaked, before clearing his throat. "Ahem. Um, if you need me, I shall be waiting outside your, er, door."

He was trying to find a way to inch himself out of her room and not look at her, but the programmer's voice stopped him before he moved.

"As you've guessed, I haven't properly eaten yet…Are you bringing me a tray, or are you leading me to breakfast…?" the brunette asked curiously, still rifling through their things.

"Oh! Well, I—I shall bring you a tray, while you're getting ready for the day. It will cut down time," Taka decided, glad that Fujisaki had given him a way to make a swift exit **and** help her recuperate.

"I've just eaten junk food, so a big and healthy breakfast should be for the best," she suggested.

"Right! I'm on it!" Taka said, forcing himself to laugh naturally. He then bolted out of the brunette's room, making sure to quickly close the door behind him to give her privacy. He left swiftly so that none of his classmates would notice, and create rumors of the poor girl.

Once the door closed, Chihiro sighed. They looked forlornly at their school bag, which now held their laptop, before deciding that Ishimaru was right. They really **did** take programming to an extreme, when they had those long sessions.

They padded into their bathroom with their things. Whilst they took their shower, the cool water hitting their small frame and slowly washing away the sweat and grogginess, Chihiro thought about Ishimaru.

At first, his intervention was a large hassle and annoyance, but he really was just worried about them. He was frantic when he saw how terrible and beat-down they looked, and he wanted to help them snap out of it and bring them back into the real world.

In all honesty, they **needed** the intervention. When they often pulled these programming stretches, Chihiro neglected **everything**.

Like when he did this at home. Whenever their father stumbled upon them—usually barely conscious, and looking malnourished, in the wee hours of the morning—he would go in a frenzy, wrenching them away from the computer to attend to them, usually having Chihiro go through things in a step-by-step manner to get them to respond.

It was good to have someone to pull them out of it—especially someone as attentive as Ishimaru.

Leon, Mondo, Sakura, Hina, Makoto—they were good friends who would certainly be worried, but they wouldn't go straight away to check up on the tiny brunette, and make Chihiro actually go and take care of their needs. Chihiro needed someone who was straightforward, who worked in a quick and orderly manner and pressed on the importance of getting them out of their funk, to pull them out of their den and get them back into their usual routine of school and eating and sleeping.

Whenever their dad was there, he would usually do it. And Chihiro had done a good job of not programming for more maybe ten or so hours straight, so far whilst they were at Hope's Peak. But they had to either condition one of their friends to help, or keep getting Ishimaru's help and concern.

Whilst getting dressed, Chihiro decided on getting Ishimaru to help them keep up their health. After this incident, he'd probably watch the brunette like a hawk and fret and worry constantly over them, so it was just better to go and ask him to help after long programming stunts.

Chihiro was running a brush through their unruly mass of hair—it always amazed them how much of a bed head they seemed to have after these things, despite never sleeping a wink—when the doorbell rang. Surmising that it was Ishimaru with the breakfast they had requested, Chihiro went and opened the door.

It was Ishimaru all right. Except he had a large tray filled to the brim with breakfast foods. It was quite the assortment, from what Chihiro could tell—a large variety, and all looking very nutritious.

"I have the breakfast you requested, Fujisaki-kun!" Ishimaru said. "I did not know what you liked, so I got a large assortment!"

"I can see that," Chihiro noted, before standing aside to let him into the room. He stomped in, for some reason nervous, and stopped in front of the desk.

"Oh, right. The trash," the brunette noted sheepishly, before skittering over and swiping an arm against the desk, pushing a large amount of it into their trashcan. The sight of the red candy bar wrappers situated at the top of the trash vaguely reminded them of a pattern they'd seen somewhere. Maybe on some stupid jacket.

Ishimaru set down the tray in the empty space, nodding his head in approval, and Chihiro swiftly sat down. Then, the small student pounced on the food ravenously.

Taka stared at Fujisaki with wide eyes. The sight before him was akin to a lion tearing into a zebra, a la Animal Planet.

She shoveled food quickly into her mouth. She'd ditched the chopsticks for the quicker fork and spoon combo. It reminded him of how Mondo and Leon ate, actually. Or possibly the girl who was their senior, Owari, who ate like she was the Ultimate Eating Contest Winner.

Of course, she said she'd only eaten junk food in two days, so perhaps that's why she was swiftly emptying all the small platters that he'd put on her tray.

"Fujisaki-kun, I think you need to drink something before you choke," he said warily, after snapping out of the mesmerizing sight of the small student eating enough food as a full-grown man would consume.

After those words left his mouth, Fujisaki paused, then grabbed onto the glass of orange juice that was precariously situated on the tray. She then gave a very Mondo-esque swig of the glass, draining half of it in one go, before setting it aside to dig into a small bowl of cinnamon oatmeal.

Well, he was at least grateful that she was taking better care of herself, table manners aside. And grateful that he'd packed so much onto the tray, despite how frantic that particular action seemed whilst he was heading back towards her room, the heavy and laden tray in his hands.

Before long, Fujisaki had finished the last thing on the tray—a bowl of fresh fruits—and gave a fulfilled sigh, wiping her mouth on a napkin.

"Thank you very much for the food, Ishimaru-kun!" she chirped up at him.

"You're very welcome—but don't think that we're done yet! Get your things ready, so that we can go to class," he said sternly, before looking down at his watch. "We have just enough time to arrive before the late bell, if we hurry."

"Okay," the programmer said, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. Despite the breakfast, she was still fatigued.

Taka looked down at her suspiciously. "Did you get any sleep this weekend…?"

"No," she answered bluntly, yawning again. "I really do work nonstop, when I get really immersed in my programming. I've done it quite a few times at home. I don't sleep, or remember to take any breaks."

Taka gaped in horror. Again, he thought back to how Fujisaki was when she first answered the door. His assumption that she worked nonstop was right, not to mention she had looked awful, to back it up.

"I think I'm going to fall asleep in class," she said regretfully as she gathered her school things, giving another yawn.

"Then I shall just escort you to the Nurse's Office, when it happens!" Taka said resolutely. "You are fatigued, so it is more like an illness, than you purposefully neglecting your studies!"

Chihiro blinked up at the _Ultimate Prefect_. Ishimaru not punishing someone for a misdemeanor…?

"Thank you," the brunette said, smiling softly at the tall boy.

"It is no problem, Fujisaki-kun!" Taka beamed, liking the sincerity and the smile the girl had given him. It was reasons like this—the thanks of others who appreciated his work of being a model student and citizen—that made the work he put himself through worthwhile.

"Ah…And, if it's not too much to ask…"the brunette started meekly.

"Hm? Do you need something else, Fujisaki-kun?" he asked happily, still mentally patting himself on the back.

"Um, if something like this ever happens again…Where I shut everything out, and program away nonstop…Can you still help me?" the small student asked, voice soft. "My Dad always did it before, at home, and my will isn't strong enough for me to stop myself…"

The red-eyed boy beamed brighter. "Well, of course, Fujisaki-kun! That is what classmates are for—to help one another, looking after our peers, and help each other improve!"

Fujisaki smiled softly back up at him again, giving him another heartfelt "Thank you" that made a nice, tingly feeling well in the pit of his stomach.

"Now," he said formally, looking down at his wristwatch, "We have class to attend!" He grabbed onto Fujisaki's things, and led them out into the hallway.

"Fujisaki-kun, I hope that you can stay awake until lunch-time, so that you can eat another proper meal before falling asleep," Taka said in a chiding tone. "It would not do if you missed another meal, in the weak state you are in. It would also not do for you to pass out from fatigue, so I am planning to simply drop you off to the Nurse's Office once you have eaten."

"Okay, then. Thank you, Ishimaru-kun."

"It is no problem, Fujisaki-kun."


End file.
